Smash That Glass Ceiling.


Speak your loud words
Break your chains
Nay!
Shout your loud words
Break life’s chains
Stop!
Discrimination
Cronyism
Scream louder your words
Smash!
That fucking glass ceiling.
Carol Robson 2015.

Hometown by Carol Robson


Hometown

This poem is about my hometown Rotherham.

HOMETOWN

Walking through the centre
my hometown,
a warm night, Saturday night.
Minster clock shines ten,
police sirens now a distant fade,
earlier, mouthy drunks
with EDL language
removed from the pub,
that I just left.

Yet! Silence runs through
to distant voices
standing on
smokey pub pavements,
town centre,
Saturday night.

Barren concrete,
no shadowy figures
for cameras to watch,
empty benches,
now the resting place
for the lone beer can
of a previous tenant.

Still devoid,
no town square voices
as I wait for tumbleweed
to roll in from side-streets
to converge
in the square
of disillusioned hopes,
unfulfilled dreams
of Jamie Oliver,
or even Mary Portas,
in this nightly ghost town,
where all have left.
Yet! It will be,
forever,
My Hometown.
©Carol Robson 2015

Clinical Humour by Carol Robson (Audio)


Clinical Humour (Audio)

[This poem is factual, I had my PIP Implants removed on May 24th 2012 under a local anaesthetic. I explained my humour to the surgeon, as I’m a Lesbian]
©Carol Robson 2014

Troubled With A Gun by Carol Robson.


Troubled With a Gun

They have a gun
shall they have fun?
Pop-pop, pop-pop
here comes the strop.

Disillusioned,
disturbed teen,
time to be mean
an outsider driven by pain
going down the drain.

Spat on, put down,
shunned.
Parents – peers
will be gunned.
Notice me!
my hatred fuelled campaign.

Who takes blame?
Inflamed communities.
Media and Films,
the reason
an untimely hunting season.

Look within,
clues are there,
out of childhood,
without care
lack of love
no affection
no one listened.
Questions asked,
the day,
bullets glistened.

Clock runs its course
cops arrive,
now in force
bearing witness,
blood stained hellhole.
Their final act,
ends life,
another troubled soul
gone,
no answers.

© Carol Robson 2014

I Love You Marvin.


I wrote this during my melancholy period which if I remember right was one August Saturday night after a few drinks around midnight.

I Love You Marvin

Time for me time
no longer giving to your time
I’m drained of energy
sort yourselves out
find somebody else to ask
there is always another mug
willing to listen
wishing you, would shut the fuck up.

My brain has gone to mush
years and years of listening
blah blah blah blah
same old stories repeated
get a fucking grip
you are the genius
the genius that can sort it
get a life, move on.

OMG I’ve turned into my hero
my morose, paranoid hero
you make me laugh, and cry
like you; ‘I didn’t ask to be made’
but at least I do have friends
your only friend was the rat
and he died in the cavity of your left ankle
I love your eternal brilliance
I love you for just being you
my Marvin the Paranoid Android

© Carol Robson 2012

Truth by Carol Robson.


Truth

Openness is a fine virtue
that does leave you naked
to be raided by the bone pickers
scavenging for your faults
to bring substance to their sad lives
so they can troll their messages
of lies and innuendo’s.

Yet the trolls will never ascend
to the beauty of your soul
that shines from beneath
the layers of your humanity
that shows the very truth
of your beautiful pure nature.

© Carol Robson 2012